Unending Storm
by Karia Ithilai
Summary: A century after the Arrancar war, those that survived have rebuilt their lives. But peace never lasts, and Aizen has one last card to play - using a child turned captain who still holds on to a childhood friend he lost.
1. Heart of Ice

_**Special thanks to Prodigy Keyblade Wielder for being my Beta!**_

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach. It belongs to Kubo Tite or the lucky bastard that produces it._

_**Spoiler Warning: **This is an AU-ish, Hitsugaya-centric work based off the 'what if Hinamori Momo died rather than recovered after being attacked by Aizen Sousuke during the Soul Society arc'. Spoilers for everything up until the latest manga chapter, since I will try my best to incorporate all canon ideas that do not directly contradict the first premise of the story. I derived the storyline canon from the manga - I also incorporated additional information from the anime as long as it did not contradict the manga or the AU premise accordingly._

_**Author's Note:** This is the rewritten version of Unending Storm's first chapter, and the entire storyline has undergone a massive change in plot and in structure. Hence, if you read the previous Chapter I before **19 January 2007**, then I highly suggest that you read this Chapter I as well to bring yourself up to date._

_**Pairing(s): **Hitsugaya Centric; Hitsugaya Toushirou X Hinamori Momo, possibly one-sided HitsuMatsu._

Unending Storm

Chapter I: Heart of Ice

_Well, I don't really think about it anymore, I guess. Just do everything you feel like doing and keep breathing. There's always someone worse off, isn't there?  
_

_-Matsumoto Rangiku, 10th Division Vice-Captain_

* * *

Matsumoto Rangiku did not shirk her paperwork. She was, after all, a respectable Vice-Captain in every way. Except the indecent state of her uniform. And her unbreakable habit of drinking sake. And also her constant evasion of all responsibility for her aforementioned quirks. But nevertheless, Rangiku maintained that it wasn't that she didn't want to do paperwork – it was that she found that she could be much more '_productive_' doing other things. 

But, at the moment, her productivity had ground to a halt. Matsumoto felt her patience fraying rapidly as she twisted the tip of her writing brush to vent her frustrations. If Taichou wasn't back in the next five minutes, she was blowing this place, and _he_ could figure out what to do with all these unanswered forms in the morning. She felt herself growling in frustration and tried to concentrate on the taunting papers in front of her.

Her most inconsiderate Taichou had been acting strange all morning, finally leaving the office for a stroll while _she_ was forced to stay inside and finish both their shares of paperwork. Papers, papers, papers. Somehow, Rangiku always felt it was a little ridiculous for them to be signing papers right now, when Aizen was on the move and war was imminent. Already, three months had passed, and if nothing changed, well, she didn't want to think of what was going to happen.

An ominous roll of thunder boomed outside, and Matsumoto heard the continuous splashes of rainfall spilling from the cloudy skies. She looked up and frowned. Taichou was definitely the only one who would go for a walk in this type of weather. It had been pouring nonstop for the past hour, and Matsumoto felt wet just looking at the downpour outside.

But wet was still better than paperwork.

Then she heard a soft clack at the windowsill. Looking up, the Tenth Division Vice-Captain made out the outline of a Hell Butterfly bumping determinedly at the window, unable to get inside. Her heart went out to it – the poor creature must have had a hell of a time trying to fly here in the rain. She let it inside, and the battered butterfly landed haphazardly on her extended finger, rattling its fragile wings to rid itself of the unwanted moisture.

_'Captain Hitsugaya Toushirou, please report to the Fourth Division immediately. Urgent. Unohana Retsu.'_

Matsumoto couldn't help but feel a grin spread across her face. In all rationality, since Taichou wasn't in the office, so it was perfectly natural for his oh-so-trustworthy Vice-Captain to run the errand for him.

Bingo. Now she had a perfect excuse to get away from the office, and even Taichou wouldn't be able to blame her for doing so. It was, after all "urgent." Rangiku thanked Unohana-taichou silently in her head.

She promptly switched off her desk light, let the Hell Butterfly wander where it would – it should be able to find the hell butterfly cages on its own – and dug her battered umbrella out of her desk drawer. She hummed a little tune to herself and sashayed out the door, wondering why Unohana would be summoning Taichou so urgently to the Fourth Division. Probably some recruit had been injured or, Matsumoto stifled a chuckle, their medicine refrigeration facilities had broken down again, as they often seemed to.

Probably the former though – the thought sobered Matsumoto a little. After Aizen had left the Soul Society, every able-bodied Death God was undergoing grueling training sessions to prepare for a potentially long and grueling war. The most recent events had shaken Soul Society terribly, especially since nothing of this caliber had EVER happened in all of its documented history. People came and went with dizzying speeds, and no one seemed to be where they were before.

Matsumoto felt a stab of pain shoot through her chest. It had been over three months since she last saw Gin. But she immediately shook her head vigorously.

Must not let mind wander off track.

With the new finality, Matsumoto Rangiku locked the Division office behind her, opened up her umbrella, and stepped into the unending storm outside.

* * *

A considerably wetter and colder Matsumoto stood at the Fourth Division office door, dripping rainwater onto the clean, linoleum tiles. The umbrella hadn't put up much of a fight against the rain, and she had been soaked to the skin long before she arrived. Still, Matsumoto still believed that being wet was better than paperwork, and a little bit of rain never hurt anyone. She shook the water off one hand and rapped the door smartly, waiting for Unohana to let her in. 

She did not have to wait long. Unohana opened the door immediately, and Matsumoto watched a thin eyebrow rise slightly in surprise. Clearly, Unohana had expected Taichou, not her. The glance was gone in a moment though, washed over by Unohana's typical serene smile, but Matsumoto had caught a good enough look at it to offer her hasty explanations.

"Taichou went for a walk when your message came, and I had no idea where he was. It was 'urgent', so I came instead." The Vice-Captain explained sheepishly. "I hope it's not a problem."

Unohana paused for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, though, what I have to say has something to do with Hinamori-chan. I thought he might have preferred being the first to know…but I don't think he'll mind if it's you."

Matsumoto froze on the spot, the half-formed grin disappearing from her face. "Did something happen to Hinamori-chan?" _Because if something did, Taichou will never forgive himself._

"I believe…it would be best if we sit down in my office. Follow me."

Unohana led Matsumoto into the impeccable room, and Matsumoto felt guilty for trailing water all over the cleanly swept floors. But she spotted a rack of towels sitting against the wall, and promptly grabbed one to dry herself off with. Trust Unohana-taichou to think of everything.

Once properly seated, Unohana took a deep breath and began.

"Matsumoto-san, I believe you are aware of the condition Hinamori was in, after she lost consciousness."

Matsumoto nodded. "I am."

"Well," Unohana's voice hesitated ever so slightly, "her condition has been steadily worsening over the last month, and became...critical about two hours ago."

The words took a moment to sink in. Matsumoto tried to process what she was hearing. "Then why are we sitting here talking about it?" she asked, slightly confused. If Hinamori-chan's condition was indeed so critical, then Unohana wouldn't be sitting in her office talking about it, would she? "Shouldn't we be helping her?"

Unohana averted her gaze, and in that split second, Matsumoto realized what was bugging her. A horribly nauseous, sinking feeling in her stomach told her that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. "Why aren't we…helping her?" Matsumoto asked again, and she realized she could not control the waver of uncertainty in it. Her instincts were screaming, but she would deny them until the last possible second, until they were confirmed. But even before the words had left her mouth, Matsumoto knew.

Unohana's pale, sad expression was clear enough.

"5th Division Vice-Captain Hinamori Momo will not be waking up. She died about an hour ago."

* * *

Matsumoto found herself outside in the rain, umbrella left unheeded beside her. For some reason, the rain didn't seem to matter anymore. Hinamori was dead. So simply, just gone. No melodrama, no struggle for life, no grieving friends, or last words. Just simply, gone. For all of their effort and struggles, the girl had left them all behind without a word of goodbye. Almost as if she had died three months ago, the moment Aizen had stabbed her through the heart and shattered her world into dust. 

But in all honesty, though Hinamori's death weighed heavily on her heart, her imaginings of Hitsugaya's inevitable reaction to the news weighed more still. She knew better than almost anyone, except, maybe, Unohana, how many long hours Hitsugaya had spent at Hinamori's bedside, coaxing her to come back when he thought no one was watching. And now...Rangiku dreaded telling him the news, dreaded being the one to see what would happen when he found out that the one he had sworn to protect would never see another sunrise.

Unohana's soft words echoed in her head hauntingly. _Died about an hour ago_. _About an hour ago._ So Taichou must have felt her die, and sensed the connection between them break in his heart of hearts. And he had gone for a walk in the unending rainstorm, without giving any reason or excuses. Matsumoto finally knew why.

She needed to find Taichou. As horrible as the news she brought was, Taichou deserved to know. Yet, the orange-headed Vice-Captain had no idea where he had gone, and he hadn't been in the office when she checked. Rangiku ran a hand through her wet, cold locks of orange hair.

Where in the world would he go at a time like this?

She brainstormed several places that Hitsugaya often visited. There was the cafeteria, but Taichou only went frequently because he constantly needed to replenish the energy his small frame wasted trying to contain his spiritual pressure. Maybe the training grounds? Taichou occasionally went there when to vent his frustration in peace, or to talk to his zanpakuto undisturbed. Matsumoto thought over it a bit, then sighed; she didn't seem to be coming up with any better ideas, so the training grounds were her best bet.

Matsumoto shook the water from her eyes, gathered her shinigami robes, and began sloshing in the general direction. But before she had gone more than a couple steps, revelation dawned. As clear as her Haineko's name countless years ago.

"Rangiku, you idiot. " She muttered to herself.

The aged and weathered peach tree standing in the Fifth Division gardens, woefully neglected but still blooming gracefully.

Taichou had always met with Hinamori there before, during the times of peace. It was an old, gnarled tree planted long before she had even entered Seireitei, and it had borne silent witness to generation after generation of shinigami. Taichou would be there. Rangiku could feel the certainty of that in her blood, the instinctive feeling all Vice-Captains possessed when it came to their respective Captains.

She took a deep breath and sprinted off into the rain, trusting her instincts to keep her from getting lost.

* * *

Sure enough, someone was leaning against at the base of the tree, eyes staring unseeingly into the deafening storm. Matsumoto could faintly make out the pale captain's cloak and silvery-white hair against the obscure blackness of the rain. 

Her determined dash skidded suddenly to a halt when Matsumoto realized that she had no idea how to tell him what she knew. She could not feasibly deliver the news gently, and even if she could, Matsumoto had a sinking feeling that, in a way, he already knew. When she had finally meandered close enough to see him…

She froze. Matsumoto didn't know what exactly she had been expecting, but not this. Never this.

Taichou's eyes. As far as Rangiku could recall, her captain's icy-blue-green eyes had always been alive, glinting with a layer of icy resolve, sparkling with amusement, piercingly glaring, radiating anger, or stonily determined. They lived and they sparked. But now…now they were so terribly, terribly blank.

And the raindrops that rolled down his face glossed over them, pooling beneath them unheeded, and following the path that tears would have tread down to his chin. Had she not known better, Matsumoto would have sworn they were tears. But she _did_ know better.

Hitsugaya did not cry – he had forced himself to forget how a long time ago.

When she reached his side, she found herself unable to speak, only standing in silence and waiting, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment or recognition. An eternity filled with nothing but the deafening silence of pouring rain passed, and Hitsugaya did not stir from his place. So Matsumoto waited silently, until he finally spoke.

"What are you trying to say?" Hitsugaya's tone was flat and lifeless, devoid even of the coldness that usually lurked there.

Matsumoto would not, _could not_, answer. She merely sat there dumbly, watching her captain stare ahead into nothingness. He looked so vulnerable like that, reminding her of his actual age. But his coldness and genius kept everyone else at bay, hiding his weaknesses and needs under a mask of ice. Matsumoto chanced a look at Hitsugaya.

And without the icy glint in his eyes, the isolation of his rank, and the poise in his stance, he suddenly looked awfully young to Matsumoto. Almost heart-breakingly young.

"I asked a question, Matsumoto." His voice was the same. The Vice-Captain lowered her head and whispered, for once.

"Taichou…Hinamori…is..." But Matsumoto could not look him in the eye and finish her sentence – a glance at his expression told her that he already knew.

_Dead_.

Another eternity full of rain and silence slipped by. Then Hitsugaya spoke once more.

"Leave."

She did not move. She couldn't leave him alone, but it was terrifying to see him like this. Rage, Matsumoto could deal with. Bitterness, frustration, aloofness, denial – she could handle it from him. But not this. His voice was empty, so horribly, horribly empty of anything recognizable to Matsumoto.

Perhaps, it was despair.

"Taichou…"

"That's an order." His voice was deceptively calm again, but his tone had lowered to a threatening growl. Matsumoto still hesitated, weighing her decision. She glanced over at her Captain once more in indecision, before letting her shoulders sag a little, and making a weak attempt at a grin.

He was beyond her help. And even if he wasn't, he wouldn't accept her help in this state. He would not, even in his darkest despair, abandon pride.

Staying here would do no good, leaving would probably do no harm. Hitsugaya…he'd pull through this on his own, whether offered help or no. She had to trust him with at least that. It hurt to see him like this, but Taichou was stronger than this. She honestly believed that.

She _had_ to believe that.

"As you wish, Taichou." With a half-bow, Matsumoto disappeared with shunpo, never once looking back.

* * *

Hitsugaya wanted to scream. He wanted to rage. He wanted nothing more than to tear the skies apart, shred reality, and rip through the strands of death that held them apart. He _would not_ let Hinamori go like this. But something inside him wouldn't move and remained flaccidly limp despite all his pent up anger. Even as his vice-captain left him to his own thoughts, the unspoken word between them whispered itself insidiously into his ear, drowning out the storm around him with the storm inside. 

_Dead_.

Every fiber in his being wanted to obliterate the word and erase it from his mind, as if it would somehow bring her back. But his rationality – or what little of it that remained – laughed harshly in his empty heart and repeated the word over and over in his mind. She died. She's dead. She's gone. You failed her.

The rain pounded down onto him, like a numbing judgment for his crime. _I failed her_. He had been ten seconds too late, and ten decades too young. Aizen had defeated him in an instant and shattered his Ban Kai in a deadly blink of an eye. Hitsugaya had tasted it then – fear and despair. But it was for a mercifully short time, when shock had numbed everything and darkness claimed him before the thoughts could register in his mind properly.

Fear of losing her and the despair of failing her.

Now the fear was gone. There was no fear. What he feared had already happened, he had lost Hinamori Momo forever, and nothing he did now could ever change that. There was no fear. Even if there was, his heart was too full of despair for him to feel it. The despair of knowing that, not only that he had failed her, but she had failed him too. She had failed him more deeply than he had ever dreamed, and brought all of his half-formed hopes crashing to the ground.

He had always hoped that, for all her devotion to Aizen, she would remember him. Somewhere in his heart, he had hoped that he held as large a place in her heart as she held in his. Hitsugaya knew it was childish and he should have known better than to hang onto a childish hope. They had seen each other less and less over the years, until entire months could pass without a word of interaction between them. He knew, then, that she was slipping away from him, and that they were growing farther and farther apart. And he hated it.

But Hitsugaya had done nothing, since he was as guilty as she was in that matter. His pride would not let him seek her out on his own without a legitimate reason, and his reputation had kept him from admitting that he enjoyed her company. He took to protecting her from the shadows, keeping a watchful eye on her without her, or anybody else for that matter, noticing it. Hinamori had never even dreamed how closely she was watched, and how many times she had been saved from death without her even knowing it.

Maybe if he had played his hand differently, Hinamori would never have doubted him. But deep down, he knew her better than that – her devotion to Aizen knew no bounds, and she would do absolutely anything for her Captain...even raising her blade against her best friend.

In the end, he should have known it all along. He simply hadn't accepted it until she had delivered it to him on Tobiume's tip and the edge of her half-formed accusations. Then he had seen with harsh clarity that no matter what he did, Aizen had total control over Hinamori. A single request from her Captain would lead her to fight against even him, and no logic or words could sway her from her task.

He had underestimated how deep the devotion went, and how deeply he had lost her to that traitorous man. He should have known, should have anticipated it, should have braced himself for the inevitable…but logic failed him. It always failed him when it came to her. No, he had clung stubbornly to the last shred of hope, willing her to come back. Perhaps she would remember him, hear his voice, and come back to him. That she could just be his Bed Wetter Momo, and he would be her Shirou-chan.

It was a foolish, childish, stupid hope, and he knew it. But he could seem to let go of it. Letting go of hope meant letting go of her, and Hitsugaya would never willingly let Hinamori leave him. Wherever she had gone, he had followed. As hateful as it was for him to admit it, he needed her, needed her warmth to keep his own ice at bay.

He had once had a heart of ice. A strong, impenetrable heart that loved no one but himself. One that did not beat, did not bleed, and bowed before no other. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that a simple smile and a simple act of friendship from a girl he didn't know would melt the ice into a helpless puddle at her feet. To her alone, the dragon would bow its head, even unwillingly.

It was a long, long time ago now.

They had both been far too naïve. Life had been so simple then, and the only concerns were having a place to sleep and enough to eat.

When that fateful letter had arrived, the one that started it all, and Hinamori had left for the Shinigami Academy. So he had followed her, watched over her, protected her from the shadows every step of the way.

She never noticed.

Her admiration was for Aizen and Aizen alone. She loved him with her entire heart – there was no room for anyone else. But she was happy, and Hitsugaya would never, in a thousand lifetimes, think of taking that away from her. He could watch her and protect her without her acknowledgement. For her to keep smiling, keep radiating that warmth and joy that kept his heart beating…it was enough. He took a strange sense of pride in every one of her smiles, knowing that, indirectly, she was smiling because of him.

Then a single phrase shattered his soft current of memories.

"_You're Captain Aizen's…murderer!"_

The hatefully cold, furious blade of Tobiume pressed against his neck. Its coldness still haunted him, aching more than a thousand cuts deeper and harsher. But even so, it paled before the coldness that surged through him, and the world beneath his feet seemed to crumble away. It was a memory he despised, one that carried a wealth of anger, frustration, confusion, loss, and betrayal…a thousand other emotions that manifested themselves as a bolt of furious lightning across pouring skies.

"Idiot…" He whispered under breath, but this time in a wistful, sad tone, drowned out by the raging tempest around him. Hitsugaya buried his face into his arms.

Hinamori was kindness incarnate, but she could be crueler than she ever imagined or intended. She had told him once, _"As long as you try your best, there's nothing to regret."_

Liar.

He had thrown every fiber of his being into protecting her, watching over her, comforting her…and he had failed. She was dead because of his failure. The raw truth of it tore his heart from inside him and choked every breath that flitted through his lungs. Regret was an understatement.

He wanted to die. He _deserved_ to die.

For being blind, blind to the illusion Aizen cast before his eyes. The man made Hinamori happy, and Hitsugaya would not interfere with their relationship, no matter how it grated against his nerves. In Hinamori's eyes, Aizen was infinitely more important than he had ever, could ever, or would ever be. She had proved it the moment she raised her blade against him, ready to slay him in honor of her Captain's memory.

And she had just proved it again. Perhaps, the fight for her life was the last choice she made, between giving in to despair and Aizen's will, and coming back to the boy who waited so desperately for her.

She had chosen Aizen.

Hitsugaya had tried her best. He had spared no expense, given her everything that he could in hopes to bring her back. The countless memories of visiting her, holding her cold, limp hand for hours, begging her to come back…pleading with her, showing her the weakness and need for her he hid behind the icy barriers, letting his vulnerability show…Nothing. Nothing he did could ever bring her back from her Captain's side. She turned a deaf ear to all his whispered, desperate calls, and left him behind.

_Dead_.

The only person he would trade the entire world for to save died, and he could do nothing. Nothing at all.

He had lived for her, always trying to be his best to show her that he could be every bit as powerful and dignified as her idolized _Aizen-taichou_. Hitsugaya felt the dragon inside his chest coil in cold fury. The traitor. The man that had stolen everything away, and had not cared in the slightest. Hinamori had been nothing more than a pawn in Aizen's eyes, while Aizen had been the world to her. Hitsugaya let out a shuddering, tearless breath. And she had been the world for him, only she never noticed.

She had always been his reason for everything, hadn't she? The reason he had become shinigami in the first place, the reason he had forced himself to become stronger, the reason he had become a Captain. Somehow, it had always been her instigating change in his life, goading him to make the decisions at every crossroad. He had followed her every step of the way, watching her, protecting her from the shadows. And he hadn't even considered walking a different path, or leaving her side. Because…because –

He had fucking _loved_ her.

Hitsugaya froze as revelation registered. One of his hands tightened its grip around the cool scabbard of Hyourinmaru, and the other grasped angrily at the fabric above his heart. Each ragged heartbeat drove the point home. He didn't know when it had happened, and he didn't know how. But Hitsugaya could no more deny it than he could deny Hyourinmaru.

He had loved her, and he had lost her. She had never been his, and never would be – the raw void in his chest would haunt him to the end of his days.

Hitsugaya choked back another strangled cry. He _would not_ break down, he _would not_ cry, he told himself. He would at least maintain that much personal dignity.

But it was increasingly harder as his mind sifted through the memories frantically, reliving them heartbeat by heartbeat, whether they were painful or not. If there was something, _anything_ he could have done to save her. But he knew there wasn't, and it wouldn't matter if there was. Hinamori had died, and Aizen had killed her. The knowledge of that chained him, choked him more than anything else possibly could.

She had died, he had loved her, and Aizen had killed her.

Aizen had crushed her innocent spirit, with more finality than any physical wound could ever inflict. The dragon inside Hitsugaya's chest roared in outrage.

Aizen would die. Hitsugaya swore it on the very despair that gripped him now. The man would die a death of ice for what he had done. A blast of furious chill lashed out from the young prodigy unnoticed, and the raindrops falling around him shattered into ice.

Aizen would die, he swore, and until that happened, he would remember every detail of the man's transgressions. Until every last one was paid for, not a single one would be overlooked.

It didn't matter how badly it heart, how deep the agony struck. He would keep breathing, if it meant keeping her memory alive for only one more day. The despair was rapidly dissipating, and another emotion was raging to the fore.

_End it_. _This storm of chaos, of doubt, of loss. This unending storm._

_How much more would Aizen take away before he stopped?_

Hitsugaya's head snapped up, and suddenly, each angry raindrop that splashed coldly on his face fueled his resolve. Hinamori was dead. Nothing he did would bring her back. But he would remember, remember, and never forget. Always, he would remember every painful detail and the raw agony, the things that could have been and those that could never be again. To remember. He could not afford to despair now.

Aizen would fall._ The storm will end._

_**I ****will end it.**  
_

Hitsugaya held his zanpakutou up to face him, and worked his cold fingers around the familiar hilt. It quivered under his fingers, and Hitsugaya angled his face upwards to stare up into the falling, angry raindrops.

_End the storm_.

The sound of sliding steel cut through the monotonous murmur of the downpour. Hitsugaya closed his eyes for a long time and was silent.

Then he opened them again, slowly, the icy blue green orbs flashing coldly in the rain. Unclouded and disillusioned, they shone with passionless ice. The dragon was mirrored in them again was unfettered by despair and now roaring with cold fury.

Aizen could try to break him. The man could take away everything that he had ever cared about, and try to break him in every way. Let him try.

Momo had died - there was nothing keeping him from freezing again. The fire had faded away, the ice would take over. He was the ice, and ice was numb to all pain. Time could not touch anything that ice sought to protect. He would remember.

_Break the chains_.

He was the dragon. He had wings. He was a creature of the sky, of the ice. A dragon was not so easily tamed, not so easily defeated.

Hitsugaya let the ice sweep him away.

_Soar_.

"Souten…ni zase…_Hyourinmaru_."

And Seireitei thundered at the sound of the dragon's roar.

* * *

Matsumoto's ears were ringing with the dragon's roar as she had witnessed the stormy sky burst spectacularly into a furious blizzard. And as quickly as it had come, the ice disappeared, whirling the dark clouds away with it. The shocking clear sky had startled her – a definite improvement compared to the oppressive, depressing rain. And Yamamoto had wisely decided to say nothing about the unauthorized shikai release. 

The roar had nearly deafened her, the familiar spiritual pressure had frozen her in her tracks, and every hair on her neck had stood on end. She had had no idea what she was feeling, or why she had reacted the way she did, but Matsumoto had felt like screaming right along. Something far, far beyond rational throught, deeply embedded into her instincts. The sound had just been flooding with so much desperation, frustration, anger, and defiance most of all. More profound than any words could have been, a vow to fight, to resist, to struggle until the very last.

Aizen would pay.

The next morning, Matsumoto had only caught a brief glimpse of her captain before Hinamori Momo's funeral began. His eyes had narrowed, far colder than she remembered them to be. He conducted himself with composure, and his voice was rife with all its characteristic chill and determination again.

_'Matsumoto. Take care of the Division while I'm gone.' _

She had asked where he was going, for how long, and why.

He had answered that it would depend.

_'There are some things I need to take care of. Alone.'_

She had respected his wishes. She did not ask, and turned a blind eye during the funeral procession. Izuru was choking back sobs, Abarai was standing in stony silence, and she had found her own heart aching terribly. Even Unohana had looked away. But Hitsugaya had been almost…detached, watching the procession with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Something had changed; he had not as much as blinked during the funeral. And when asked to deliver a eulogy, he had declined.

_'I have nothing more to say.'_

Even when there were so many unspoken words hanging in the air.

And he had stayed for a word with Unohana, after the funeral, and before they had buried her coffin. Matsumoto had not asked, and did not question when he didn't come back to the Division office. She did not ask about it when he returned, almost two entire days later. Matsumoto had only taken a brief glance at his torn clothes, at the gashes and dirt all over him, and at his obvious reiatsu depletion. Matsumoto had wondered, but despite her curiosity, she had still sent him to the Fourth Division immediately.

They never mentioned it again. Ever since that day, it seemed that Hitsugaya had completely returned to normal, as if nothing had ever happened. He started scowling and scolding her again. To everyone else, the Hitsugaya Toushirou of the old had returned.

But Matsumoto knew better. Before, Taichou had a spark of life and something he had to protect at all costs. Now, the spark of life was gone and his eyes were hard – he was a child who had grown up far to fast and reached a crossroad, where both paths led into darkness.

And he had sealed his heart away.

But she didn't give up hope. As long as he kept his heart of ice from turning into a heart of stone, there was hope.

Ice could melt.

* * *

_Rewritten on January 19, 2007. _

_I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of 'Unending Storm' despite the lack of plot advancement_._ In case you noticed, my usage of phrases and metaphors used in Jedi Boadicea's 'Frozen Sky' were not intentionally the same - it's just that I have based my characterization of Hitsugaya off 'Frozen Sky', so some references were unavoidable_. _I apologize belatedly if it offended anyone_._ Please review, and constructive criticism is more than welcome_.

_-Karia Ithilai_


	2. Interlude: War and Peace

_**Special Thanks to Prodigy Keyblade Wielder for being my Beta!**_

_**Disclaimer:** Please refer to Chapter I, since I'm too lazy to say it again._

_**Spoiler Warning: **Thisis an AU-ish, Hitsugaya-centric work based off the 'what if Hinamori Momo died rather than recovered after being attacked by Aizen Sousuke during the Soul Society arc'. Spoilers for everything up until the latest manga chapter, since I will try my best to incorporate all canon ideas that do not directly contradict the first premise into the story. I derived storyline canon from the manga –I also incorporated additional information from the anime as long as it did not contradict the manga or the AU premise accordingly._

_**Author's Note: **__This is the rewritten version of the Interlude: War and Peace, and the entire storyline has undergone a massive change in plot and structure. Hence, if you read the previous Interlude before **1**__** February 2007**__, then I would highly suggest you read the current Interlude, and all chapters before it._

_**Pairing(s): **__Hitsugaya Centric; HitsuHina, perhaps one-sided HitsuMatsu_

Unending Storm

Interlude: War and Peace

_'You know the saying 'It can always be worse'? Total shit. It can't get any worse. Even Hell's better than this.'  
_

_-Unnamed Shinigami during the Arrancar War_

* * *

Maybe they had been overconfident. Maybe they had underestimated their opponent. Maybe, maybe, there was _something_ that they overlooked, that they could have done to lessen the devastation left behind. Maybe. 

But Hitsugaya doubted it.

They had been perfectly aware of what lay ahead, and had known the consequences of their actions. Every possibility had been exhausted, and every resource taxed to its limit. They had paid with their tears and sweat to prepare, and paid with blood, bone, and sanity to pull through. There was nothing, _nothing_ more that they could have done without losing the last fragments of the past anchoring them to reality – a shred of decency and a shred of defiance. And some of them didn't even have those shreds anymore.

They had paid. Blood for blood, life for life, until corpses had covered every inch of the tainted ground. Hitsugaya had been no exception, and had thrown in a little more. Captain, after all. It was expected. You were always the first to the front lines, and the last to leave. And every painful breath it took to strike down one more enemy siphoned away a little more of their humanity, a little more of their strength.

Kurosaki Ichigo was strong, stronger than he ever was. The berry-headed human teenager had faced his inner hollow, defeated it, and retained his determination and personality to their fullest. He had shouldered the additional burdens without a word of complaint, and then fought like they weren't even there. An amazing person, in all accounts, and he had amazing friends to support him. Hitsugaya couldn't help but admire the passion that Ichigo possessed – he would never be able to emulate that absolute overflow of defiance and life that the teen exuded in droves.

No, his reputation was different. According to popular belief, nothing could ever crack the mask of ice he slid over his features, and everything he did was marked by efficiency, succinctness, and thoroughness. Taciturn and observant, no detail escaped his piercing green eyes; all opposition towards him was met with brutal eradication. _Tensai_ was whispered often behind his back, along with many other words less kind. Whether they were stated as fact or insult, he had never cared enough to find out.

There were significantly fewer people that knew any more of him than that. That he could still smirk, laugh, and relax occasionally, make sarcastic comments and feign anger when anyone mentioned his height. That he would die defending his Division, and his heart grieved for every shinigami they lost, even when his expression stayed harsh and unmoving on the outside. That he could even be a source of comfort and reassurance when things got really bad, and was a dependable ally under any circumstance. But those times were very, very rare now, and the people who knew were very, very few. Mostly, no one would ever doubt that he was serious, emotionless, and very cold. Hitsugaya was a deadly opponent when crossed.

He couldn't complain, since most of it was his own doing. Very few people could get through the ice now; few enough for him to count on one hand. But those that could were those that he would trust with his life and in return, they would trust him with theirs as well – Matsumoto, Unohana, and perhaps Ukitake. His list of friends wasn't much longer, and limited to those who weren't intimidated by the dragon within.

Hinamori had once been in that list. But, now – Hitsugaya forced himself to admit it through gritted teeth – even if she wasn't dead, he knew that she would always be infinitely more loyal to Aizen than anyone else. The void she left behind gaped back at him, taunting him, refusing to disappear, and he had responded in his frustration by sealing the whole thing off with ice. Of course, he wouldn't admit that to anyone, since everyone he trusted probably already knew.

Matsumoto, for one. She was as aware of the void Hinamori had left in him, as he was aware of the emptiness left by Ichimaru Gin in her. They had come to an understanding, and a mutual resolve not to mention either matter.

Reality had given them no time for regrets or introspection. They had had no time for anything. The war had shattered the uneasy peace before anyone had been quite ready, and the scourge had lashed at them with sickening venom.

It tore them to shreds, both mentally and physically. Not an inch of skin was free from their congealing blood; not a single night passed without revisiting the horrors they wallowed through every day. The blood of comrades and enemies alike ran slick over their dulled blades, their calloused hands, and their aching hearts. Despair haunted the black circles under their eyes and magnified every weary heartbeat; they could not rest, could not eat, could not sleep without an eye open, lest the night bring death among their ranks. They lost more Death Gods during the first few months of fighting than they had in the last few millennia. It was no wonder that many welcomed insanity when it came.

After he had cut the body of another suicide victim in his division from the rope that dangled her broken neck from the ceiling, Hitsugaya realized with grim awareness just how far the mighty shinigami had fallen. Suicide, intoxication, insanity, and desertion had run rampant through the ranks, striking down the most unexpected people. There was no one who had not lost a friend, relative, or lover to the war, whether it was the unforgiving, squalid conditions they fought under, or the swift blade of an Arrancar.

Even Hitsugaya felt his breaking point drawing inevitably closer, as he tore his way through Arrancar after Arrancar. Whenever he looked into the mirror on one of his bad days, the emptiness in his reflection's eyes staring back at him was startling. It was the same look that haunted every Death God's eyes, no matter how cleverly they tried to hide it. The shattered naivety, the knowledge of the hideous extents of human cruelty; the insecurity of having nothing solid to hang onto, the fact that a friend may be there one day, and gone forever the next; the helplessness and hopelessness that destroyed any faith they had left.

And still greater burdens weighed upon his shoulders. The knowledge that if others fell, he was to catch them and set them upright, and yet when he stumbled in weariness, all he could do was steady himself and plough onwards alone, for there was no one to save the saviors. It was no longer a question of if he would snap, but when and how hard. But when he did snap, he would let himself fall apart only while he was alone, for even in the darkest times, he would never abandon pride.

* * *

In retrospection, Hitsugaya never wanted to experience war ever again. It had been a drastic escape from facing reality, for reality became nothing but a gruesome game of killing and being killed. In the bloody chaos that reigned, no one had any no time for introspection, no time to let their thoughts wander, no time to mourn the people they had lost. Everything had simply been a blur of red and black, and you either woke up to see the next day or you didn't. 

Yamamoto had called them together in a final, collaborative meeting, one that would decide the fate of the shinigami and the world they tried to save. The meeting had been tedious and interminable. Through countless arguments and heated debates, they reluctantly chose a drastic and inevitable course of action, one that met reluctant approval and grim determination.

They would gamble. To end the war with one massive strike. No reservations, no second chances. The shinigami would draw on every resource at their disposal, and end it in one final bloodbath. The Quincy and the Vaizard, their allies from the living world - not a single person was overlooked. They had stormed into Hueco Mundo, every last one of them armed to the teeth.

They won.

They had lost more than three quarters of those that remained, and not a single death god had escaped unscathed. Tousen and Ichimaru were slain, the first by Komamura and Hisagi, the second by Kira, Matsumoto, and Shunsui. The Arrancar and Espada were eradicated, and the once mighty citadel of Las Noches burned to the ground before their wrath. And Aizen…the traitor that started it all – he was sealed with the deadliest vows of binding, stronger even than those that bound the Soukyouku. His soul was locked in the depths of Seireitei, constantly watched in case he might break free.

They were victorious.

But that victory had come at a terrible, terrible price. Hitsugaya had conducted various investigations of their losses, and he was very aware of how many had died, and how many were still in danger of doing so. But he did not realize how deep the psychological damage ran until he stumbled upon Matsumoto again, after the final, greatest battle had burned itself out. Both of them were exhausted, riddled with wounds, and teetering on the edge of consciousness. He had been silent, and she had wept softly. 

She had been cradling Ichimaru's head in her lap. In the end, the woman had still been unable to strike the final blow; Shunsui did it for her. But he had been kind, and given the two some time alone, as Gin died and she wept. Hitsugaya did not know what words they had exchanged, and he respected his second-in-command enough not to inquire. He merely placed a hand on her shoulder and let her know that he understood, and she was free to mourn until she was ready. Hitsugaya would never forgive Ichimaru, but he would not condemn Matsumoto for her connection with him either.

She had wiped some of the blood away from his face and neatened the bloodied robes hanging raggedly on his corpse. Hitsugaya had stopped when he was in sight of them, and for the first time since the war began, his battle-hardened eyes had softened.

_Let him go, Rangiku._ He surprised himself with the use of her first name. But it was appropriate. The woman before him now was not his vice-captain – she was a grieving friend who needed comforting. She was one of the only people he depended on, who knew what went on behind that mask of ice; He was one of the only male figures in her life that she could trust to look past her pretty face and ample chest.

_It's over_. _Let him go_.

But he knew it was not near as easy as it sounded. He wasn't physically much different, maybe only a little taller, but he had gotten stronger, colder, less prone to emotion, and more resilient to pain. Still, a part of him remembered what it was like when the only girl he had loved and would ever love had died.

Hinamori. The hollowness still resounded across the frozen landscape of his soul, and no time could ever make it heal. The vengeance did nothing to heal the wounds.

He could imagine what the woman in front of him was feeling.

Matsumoto's grey eyes met his own. She tried to force a grin through her tears and failed. Her voice was hoarse and dry now, as if the strain of acting cheerful and buoyant were finally catching up to her. _We always did know it would come to this, didn't we?_

Hitsugaya did not answer immediately since he had no answer ready for her. But he looked down at the man Matsumoto was cradling – a traitor, an enemy, but also a man she had loved with her whole heart. The man had saved her in her childhood, and had saved her in the war countless times. An enigma, until the very end. Hitsugaya closed his eyes and was silent for a long time.

_...Yes._

He knelt down to her and uncurled her cold fingers from Ichimaru's bloody tunic. Grabbing her hands, he helped her up, even though he was still a good head shorter than her. And she stood slowly, trembling on unsteady legs.

_But we will move forward._

_And we will remember those we left behind._

They stood in silence for a long time, the taste of grief almost palpable in the bloodied air, stormy grey locked with icy aquamarine. Then, without another word, he turned and left. He would give her time. If he had learned nothing else, the war had taught him patience. The wounds would never heal, but Time would wear the agony away to nothing but a dull ache. He had faith in her, that she would know her priorities, and that she would follow him. In due time, of course. But they had time.

He had squared his young shoulders, aware of the captain's mantle bearing down on him like a dead weight. They would rebuild, they would go forward, and they would remember, but the wounds would never truly heal. Everyone would collect the shattered remains of their hearts and spirits, and let them mend over time. He would not fall here. His division needed him, and there was much to be done. A captain's duty and a leader's heart. But a determined weariness dogged his footsteps. If what he expected was true, it wouldn't be pretty.

* * *

The end of the war brought no joy – the silence that reigned on the throne that chaos once occupied was no kinder to its bedraggled subjects. It would be during the peace that thoughts tended to wander endlessly, always, always back to what could have been and what could never be again. The road to recovery would a harsh and trying one, and even long afterwards, they would not lose the insecurity that lurked in the shadow of their souls. They would remember what they once had, what they once lost, and what they had yet to regain. 

In those days, hidden weariness hung about him like a shroud, and his schedule was constantly full of tedious and stressing dilemmas, his shoulder was constantly wet from the tears of a grieving subordinate, and his mind reeled from the enormity of the task. He was among those that became the strength and pillars of support that others so desperately needed in their shattered lives, a constant in the tides of rapid change.

He had to rely on his own raw determination and Hyourinmaru's numbingly frozen presence to contain his own emotions and keep him from the edge of insanity. The number of times Matsumoto had arrived at the office, only to find the door frozen securely shut and her stoical captain struggling to get his raging emotions back under control, had attested to his sorely tested nerves. He remembered everything, in all its painful clarity, every detail of every heartbeat they had endured.

But he had survived – it was more instinct than determination. The will to survive, to improve, to surpass had been one of the few constants in his life. He had brought them with him to Soul Society and had no intention of losing them. He would not tolerate defeat from anything, much less something as trivial as stress. He was ice, inexorable and unchanging, despite the unending storm of chaos that surrounding him.

He would live, if only to ensure that the war was not forgotten, and the loss remained sharp in their memories. That they would remember their past mistakes, and never make the same ones ever again. He would _not_ be intimidated.

A dragon was not so easily tamed.

He would not be so easily defeated.

Hitsugaya Toushirou did not forget.

* * *

_Rewritten January 31, 2007 _

_I've taken huge amounts of creative liberty, and this chapter was not included in the old version of Unending Storm_._ This chapter was a **transition**, or a filler, intended help explain how the characters have changed, and how the conflict affected them_. _Review please, and constructive criticism is more than welcome_.

_-Karia Ithilai_


	3. No Such Thing as Fate

_**Special thanks to Prodigy Keyblade Wielder and s0ccermadnes for being my Beta-readers!**_

_**Disclaimer: **__Please refer to the previous chapter, which will eventually refer you to Chapter I_

_**Spoiler Warning:**__ This is an AU-ish, Hitsugaya-centric work based off the 'what if Hinamori Momo died rather than recovered after being attacked by Aizen Sousuke during the Soul Society arc'. Spoilers for everything up until the latest manga chapter, since I will try my best to incorporate all canon ideas that do not directly contradict the first premise into the story. I derived storyline canon from the manga –I also incorporated additional information from the anime as long as it did not contradict the manga or the AU premise accordingly._

_**Author's Note: **__This is the rewritten version of Chapter II, and the entire storyline has undergone a massive change in plot and structure. Hence, if you read the previous chapter II before __**27 June 2007**__, then I would highly suggest you read the current Chapter II, and all chapters before it._

_**Pairing(s): **__Hitsugaya Centric; HitsuHina, perhaps one-sided HitsuMatsu_

Unending Storm

Chapter II: No Such Thing as Fate

'_No, I didn't want to become Captain. It's not something I ever aspired for, and I sure as hell don't enjoy being one. I want my life back, goddammit!'_

_-Kurosaki Ichigo, 5__th_ _Division Captain_

* * *

Hitsugaya held back a twitch of annoyance with sheer will as he listened to the umpteenth shinigami who had come to his office request a day off.

The requests of the older veterans, he could understand. The distant, haunted looks in their eyes and the painful memories that radiated in their reiatsu were convincing enough for him to excuse them for emotional duress. The older shinigami, the ones who had seen, fought, and bled in the wars personally, were most in need of composing themselves without the constant hubbub of the workplace. The problem lay with the younger recruits; they had never quite grasped the devastation of warfare, and had consigned the Arrancar to nothing more but nighttime stories to scare children into bed. They had leapt at the chance of skiving off work, and left the office in droves to hit bars, shopping malls, and other centers of amusement.

But while that fact alone annoyed him, his real annoyance lay behind the motives of their actions. The young Captain granted permission to all that requested it – against his will, sometimes, but since the reasons for the unofficial holiday were sentimental to begin with, he couldn't very well _refuse_ – but Hitsugaya couldn't help but notice that the lessons of the past had been all but forgotten by those who learned it secondhand. If today, as the anniversary of the actual _war_, could be used as an excuse to skip out on duty…then it only proved that the shinigami had utterly failed to learn from their mistakes. It was a sobering thought.

Yet once again, he couldn't exactly deny permission to those that asked. Thrice-damned protocol.

"Permission granted. Take your unfinished reports to the archive and sign out with Akira." Hitsugaya relented, the low timbre of his voice and his level, impassive tone concealing his mounting annoyance. "You'll receive a double workload tomorrow," he added, looking up from his paperwork to fix the subordinate with a piercing glance. "Dismissed."

The younger shinigami paled visibly under his Captain's legendary cold gaze. He bowed hastily, muttered his gratitude, and scurried out of the office before those penetrating, jade eyes could freeze him to the spot. Hitsugaya watched the recruit leave, then sighed and ran a calloused hand through his silvery-white hair. _There goes another one_.

The office was silent once more, and completely still save for the occasional flurry of snowflakes landing on the windowpanes. It was still too early for Matsumoto to arrive (albeit, the workday began two _hours_ ago), and in her absence, the entire room was, quite literally, below freezing, since its sole occupant saw no need for warmth. For him, the cold was liberating and welcome. Warm air made the windows fog up and obscured the view.

Without his Vice-Captain's constant distraction, the Tenth Division Captain was left to his own musings. A small portion of his attention was directed towards filling out the reports mechanically and flawlessly, as he had always filled them out over the past century and a half. Another portion of his mind mentally reorganized his schedule and memorized the active squads' assignments with perfect accuracy. The rest of his mind was left to wander, shifting to thoughts that were more personal in nature.

Per se, the feeling of loss that had been gnawing at him all week.

Normally, he would have dismissed the feeling as an unwanted obstacle, letting Hyourinmaru freeze it and shatter it into oblivion; it was beginning to interfere with his performance – distracting him and making him hesitate where he usually made decisions without remorse. When he sent a scouting mission to 76th District last night, the wrenching feeling in his chest had multiplied tenfold, and he had been on the verge of ordering them to withdraw without any apparent cause.

But try as he might, Hitsugaya couldn't banish the notion from his mind. It wasn't that he didn't trust his own intuition and Hyourinmaru's instincts, but that the feeling of loss was…_nostalgic._ The only logical conclusion was that it was a residual feeling from events a century past, reawakened by circumstances and some outside stimuli.

His eyes narrowed – why should events a century past still cloud his judgment?

Probably because it never seemed like a century had passed. It was still strange to think that today was the hundredth anniversary of the actual day the war ended. But the calendar didn't lie, and every history textbook at the Academy boldly printed the date as the day of victory.

Gods, had it really been so long? The memories were still raw and sharp. Hitsugaya closed his eyes, and the recollections came back in a rush. He could almost _see_ the carnage-strewn battlefield, taste the blood on his lips, and smell the stench of decay in the air. In the silence of his office, he could almost hear the phantom echoes of the dying cries of the wounded and the harsh clang of metal on metal. Too many battles, too many losses. The images were as clear as the day they were formed.

And _her_. Always her.

Damned photographic memory.

Hyourinmaru's frosty presence stirred in the back of his mind, steadying him after he had ventured to close to the emotions he had frozen and locked away decades ago. The images faded away in a gust of cold wind. As he reopened his eyes and glanced out the window at the snowfall outside (for any sign of his tardy Vice-Captain), Hitsugaya caught a glimpse of his own stoic reflection captured on the freezing glass. A more angular jaw, sharper eyes, and features that were unmistakably those of a young adult, even if they still bore faint traces of childhood…the changes in his physical appearance were indelible evidence that a century had indeed passed him by.

But what did time mean to the shinigami anyways? When a lifetime could span millennia, what did a few centuries–?

"Gosh, Taichou, it's _freezing_ in here!" Matsumoto's cheerful greeting jarred Hitsugaya from his thoughts. He inwardly swore at his own inattentiveness, letting Matsumoto startle him, but outwardly enacted an automatic response.

"Matsumoto, you're late," the white-haired Captain growled, but his Vice-Captain shrugged it off without remorse as she pounced on her desk and flicked on the desk light with maddening joviality.

"So, where is everyone? I didn't see anyone but Akira-kun in the officer's room."

"The requested a day off," Hitsugaya replied, without looking up from his paperwork. Hopefully, Matsumoto would read him well enough not to press the matter any further.

"And you _agreed?_" No such luck. "Aw, Taichou, you're so nice!"

Hitsugaya unconsciously gripped his quill tighter. "It wasn't because of that," he answered softly.

"Then why…oh." Realization dawned on Matsumoto's features. Her grin faded. "Oh..." Her lips changed into a wry smile and her eyes gained a most peculiar shade of gray as she picked up her quill and paid extreme attention to the forms lying on her desk. As well as they both hid the fact, old wounds had a long way to go before they healed. Too many battles, too many losses.

'_BIPBIPBIPBEEP! BIPBIPBIPBEEP!'_ The shrill ringing of the alarm call on Matsumoto's desk prevented a would-be awkward silence. The orange-haired lieutenant snatched the communicator from its resting place in the blink of an eye. "Vice-Captain Matsumoto." Her voice was dead serious again.

_/Takashi Ayuma, squad leader, reporting! Squad stationed on patrol in West Rukongai District 76! Fifteen minutes ago, we were ambushed by unidentified enemies! Requesting emergency assistance/_

Matsumoto's eyes narrowed and she glanced over at her Captain for confirmation. Hitsugaya's expression remained impassive and inscrutable as he set down his quill. He nodded briskly. She turned back to the communicator, and barked, "Status report, Takashi."

_/Heavy snowfall, visibility is poor. Three men are down, two more missing. Currently taking shelter behind a boulder in a forest clearing, exact location unknown. They haven't found us yet…Haen estimated that we're outnumbered at least three to one. Matsumoto-fukutaichou…I think…we're in trouble./_

"Help is on the way. Hold positions, regroup, and lay low." Matsumoto commanded, and then clicked off the communicator. "Taichou…"

"Get Haineko, Matsumoto." Hitsugaya commanded without missing a beat as he left his desk. "We'll have to flash step through Jyunrinan District and over the Hakke Ridge." Hitsugaya grimaced at the thought of the thousands upon thousands of continuous flash steps needed to cover such a distance. Seventy-sixth was a long way off and a full-ranked shinigami would waste at least half a day alternating running and flash step to get there. Even completely with shunpo, a brief mental calculation told him that it would still cost them at least half an hour to arrive.

He glanced over at Matsumoto, and caught her stormy grey gaze with his jade blue eyes. Her eyes were serious, a far cry from the normal carefree and lazy vice-captain that drooled over the couch. But his eyes were sharp – he caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and the faint whitening of her knuckles as they grasped Haineko's hilt. The same conclusions that he had reached with ice-cold logic were running through her mind as well.

It would take forty-five minutes to get to Seventy-sixth District. Half an hour, minimum.

The squad that had called so desperately for support didn't _have_ half an hour.

In short, they weren't going to get there in time.

* * *

His footsteps crunched softly into the bloodstained snow, and the only surviving spiritual pressure in his vicinity was rapidly dying away. As Hitsugaya surveyed the carnage around him, a creeping fatigue that wasn't entirely the result of flash stepping slowly ate away at the edge of his mind. They had arrived ten minutes too late. 

_Ten minutes too late to save her_.

A phantom memory echoed in his mind as he stepped through the scarlet snowdrift, but he shunted them back into their frozen mental prison before he could remember their significance. The last thing he needed now was to muse over long gone events of the distant past. Hyourinmaru shifted in the back of his mind, and he could sense the dragon's dissatisfied growl reverberate against the nape of his neck, even if he didn't remember – didn't _want_ to remember – exactly what caused Hyourinmaru's displeasure.

_**Why do you run?**_

Like usual, Hyourinmaru did not add anything else to explain its insightful comment. It didn't have to. The sword was keenly attuned to its wielder's moods, and at the moment, its wielder's spirit force was a blistering hailstorm of unacknowledged emotions and unspoken words – all of them locked behind that immutable wall of ice and left to disappear. They never truly disappeared, of course, because losing the memories would mean forgetting.

Hitsugaya Toushirou did not forget.

But he was remembering more than he would have liked as he knelt beside the limp, shivering mess of blood and cloth – the only survivor of the ill-fated squad – and gently brushed off some of the fallen snowdrift. The boy was alive, perhaps, but long, harsh experience had taught him too well. Even in the semidarkness, Hitsugaya barely had to glance at the blood seeping into the soiled snow and the mutilated parts of the boy's limbs to realize the wounds were fatal, and would have been excruciatingly painful if the frostbite had not destroyed all of the nerve endings.

He hadn't seen anything in the last few decades that even vaguely resembled the ragged gashes that marred every body littering the frosted ground. It looked as if a savage animal had ripped through blood and bone with bare teeth and claws, and then scorched the corpses beyond recognition.

They looked eerily like Arrancar attacks.

_With the corpses littering every inch of the ground, gore everywhere, blades clashing, cries of the dying, blood, blood, __**blood**_

Goddamnit.

He really didn't need this right now. Hitsugaya's jaw line tensed, and he forced the insidious whispering to the back of his mind, concentrating instead on the situation at hand. Pale emerald eyes flashed dangerously as he mentally ran through hundreds of possibilities, his gaze flicking from one corpse to the next trying to analyze what had caused such damage, and how the wounds should be dealt with.

"H-Hitsu…gaya…taichou…?" the boy's voice rasped softly; his eyelids fluttered, but remained closed.

Hitsugaya's wandering gaze immediately riveted to the boy. "Aa."

And with a pang he realized the boy couldn't be much older than an academy graduate was – one who should be enjoying a typical afternoon with his friends back home, not dying in these unfamiliar snows. Tousled black hair and a youthful, pale face. No name came to mind.

He couldn't even remember the boy's name. Just another nameless subordinate.

"So…c-cold…"

Hitsugaya's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Time was running out. At this rate, exposure would kill the boy before the internal damage and blood loss could, unless he did something, and did it quickly. But the Tenth Division Captain was keenly aware that, even if he was a genius, there was no possible way he could heal the boy. Fatal wounds were fatal wounds, and no healer in Soul Society could do anything for him now. But Hitsugaya needed to keep him alive and talking to find out exactly who had done this, and how they did it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt himself squirming, despising himself for his inability to save the young death god. Somewhere behind the ice, he was furious, desperate, and devastated. But his expression was smooth and emotionless – the ice would keep those emotions at bay, and he could concentrate on what was logical and realistic without having to deal with the mess of emotions and moral implications related to events like this. The results of a century and a half of being a Captain. The results of a lifetime haunted by dreams of frost. Numbed.

All he needed to do now was staunch the wounds and thaw the boy enough for him to speak articulately. He hadn't had time to bring a medical kit, so anesthetics were a luxury he couldn't provide the boy. Hopefully, the cold had done a thorough job of killing nerve cells.

Hitsugaya furrowed his brow in concentration, opening his reserves of reiatsu. A high-level kidou spell, nothing lower than seventy. Anything less wouldn't thaw the young death god quickly enough and cause massive amounts of tissue or brain damage, but anything higher would fry the boy upon contact.

"Bakudou #79: Ryuuenkai." His voice cut sharply through the muffled drizzling rain and snow. The air suddenly crackled with Captain-leveled reiatsu, its soft blue glow momentarily illuminating the dim clearing. Then the spiritual energy blossomed into blinding white, writhing tendrils that coiled tightly over the boy's limbs, torso, and head, shining even brighter before all of them simultaneously melted into his battered body, leaving only a sizzling puddle of melting snow behind.

The boy visibly relaxed, almost collapsing in on himself. But his limbs did not stop quaking, and blood was still seeping from various wounds. Too much blood.

Without warning, the youth tensed in alarm, his eyes flying open, and his broken fingers grasping desperately into the hem of his Captain's white cloak. "Hitsugaya-taichou! You…we couldn't…ambush –" he was interrupted by a fit of coughing.

Hitsugaya laid a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder, and took care to quash his spiritual pressure even further – he couldn't risk exposing the boy to any high-levels of reiatsu without knocking him unconscious. And if the boy lost consciousness now, it was unlikely that he would ever regain it. The Tenth Division Captain levered the boy into a more natural position, then channeled a miniscule amount of reiatsu into the boy, lending his subordinate a little more spiritual pressure.

The thin eyelashes fluttered, and this time, the boy opened his eyes fully.

This time, Hitsugaya could not help but draw a shuddering breath in surprise.

Momo's eyes were staring back at him – the same shade and shape. The same wide, innocent expression was plastered across the boy's face, and the same swirling, chocolate-hazel eyes staring into his sharp, aquamarine ones – the memories that always stirred gently beneath the ice suddenly exploded into vivid recall.

_Shirou-chan…_

"Whoever attacked you is long gone. The area is secure." Hitsugaya replied tersely, more for his own benefit than for the boy's. He kept his tone as calm as he possibly could, but soft enough not to jar the boy's fragile consciousness. "What can you remember?"

The boy closed his eyes again, as if in recall, and Hitsugaya felt an inexplicable twinge as those chocolate-brown eyes hid themselves beneath pale eyelids. The boy spoke softly, no more than a whisper that was almost lost in the rushing, snowy winds. "Fire. There was this man…he was the leader, I think…there was this sword…fire…I couldn't stop them…Yamasaki was closest…she screamed…and we tried to fight, but he – he was too strong…I couldn't…"

Without warning, the trembling ceased. And the boy went terribly, terribly still. Hitsugaya caught his breath, fearing the worst.

But then the boy opened his eyes again, struggling this time, and turned his head slightly to look into his superior's gaze. And Hitsugaya realized that those Momo-like eyes were fearful, searching his own eyes for a reassurance that wasn't there.

"H-Hitsugaya-taichou…am I going to…die?"

And for the first time in years, Hitsugaya Toushirou hesitated, unable to answer. A dragon could not lie. Ice could not reflect anything but the truth.

But how could he tell the truth, when the boy was looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes the almost exact same shape and color of _hers_, hands still weakly tugging at the edge of his cloak?

"Everyone dies." It was a close to comforting as he could get under these circumstances.

The boy did not flinch away, but continued staring straight up at him, then smiled weakly.

"Promise you won't tell…Nee-san?"

"Aa." He could always get someone else to deliver the official condolences.

The boy was rambling now, his coherence slipping away with his ebbing lifeblood. "I wanted to be…like Hitsugaya-taichou. Hitsugaya-taichou is strong, strong enough to…protect…everybody else."

"I was so proud to…finally get into Hitsugaya-taichou's squad…I want…to get stronger…so I could be a Captain too…" His eyes glazed over.

"And be strong enough…to protect…everyone…"

Hitsugaya didn't notice his nails digging deeply into his palms, drawing blood. He didn't notice his own clenched fists shaking in barely suppressed anger. He didn't notice that he had released the kidou spell, and that his reiatsu had gone entirely cold, even colder than the snow around them. He only noticed that, as the boy's eyes faded to black, he hesitated, and then whispered words already halfway between reality and a final, dreaming sleep.

"Then everyone…can live…happily…ever…af…ter…" And then the last line was his to finish, because the boy could no longer speak.

_The end._

He had stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago. Because he had learned the hard way, in more ways than one, that there was no such thing as a 'happy ever after'. No such thing as victory, when all the bad people die, and all the good guys return home heroically. He had learned that everything cost something else to get, and there was no such thing as a perfect ending. There was only reality, and ice. Only a sharp difference between those too weak to survive, and those strong enough to move forward.

The same difference that explained why he was alive while the boy in front of him wasn't.

A brush of his fingers closed those dead, brown eyes, and in a swift, decisive movement, he stood, his Captain's haori whipping about him in the heavy winds. Matsumoto's reiatsu was approaching, but slowly, at a painful walk. Which could only mean that she hadn't found anything more than he had.

He should have known that, if Fate had its way, nothing good would happen today. But with a cold narrowing of his eyes, Hitsugaya reminded himself that there was no such thing as Fate; his actions and consequences were his and his alone, and that the present determined the future, not the other way around. Unless something astronomically impossible happened to convince him otherwise, then for all intents and purposes, Hitsugaya Toushirou did not believe in Fate.

So why did it feel like some higher being was laughing at him? Laughing loud and raucously as the strewn limbs, the bloody corpses, and the broken swords screamed of that exact date a hundred years earlier? Laughing as he stood there, silently watching this nameless boy's corpse slowly buried by freshly fallen, white snow?

No such thing as Fate. No such thing as Destiny.

But it didn't matter. He did not want to think about it now. Hitsugaya closed his eyes for a moment, and, with an ease only attained through many years of practice, the mixed feelings raging inside him dissolved into the ice, and the calm, analytical mindset of a dragon took over. There was an unknown opposition group that was too dangerous for an individual squad. Perhaps even too dangerous for a seated officer. He didn't plan on taking the chance that it was, or on risking the lives of any more subordinates by sending them after the rogue group.

But you did not cross a dragon without consequence, and Hitsugaya Toushirou did not easily forgive transgressions. The rogue group responsible for the carnage around him would learn the meaning of ice.

It was time to take matters into his own hands, against regulation or not.

"Taichou…"

Matsumoto's voice sounded quietly from behind. The white-haired Captain turned, his expression inscrutable, just in time to catch his second-in-command's fleeting look of sorrow before she wiped her face clean of any emotions.

"Let's go." He turned to leave.

"…and the bodies?"

Hitsugaya paused briefly, and then his voice cut through the storm's howl as clearly as a whip of ice.

"Leave them. The snow will bury them until the posthumous affairs squad finds them." Without another word, he slipped into shunpo, before Matsumoto could read his expression. But he missed Matsumoto's knowing expression, as she glanced at the dead boy lying behind, then back in his direction with a bitter half-smile. The Vice-captain shook some of the snow out of her long, orange hair, and placed a hand on her hip in a mock pout.

"Same old Taichou; still won't admit that he actually has a heart beneath all that ice, eh?"

She sighed, and then followed her captain into shunpo, disappearing into the sleeting ice, and leaving the sad bodies behind.

* * *

_Rewritten July 6, 2007_

_The original Chapter II was a montrosity before I broke it into three - over 10,000 words on 30 pages in Verdana 10 font. However, since I did break it into three, that means chapters three and four are essentially done, except for a bit of proofreading and tweaking._

_Oh, three more things. First off, since the storyline can potentially branch off into two different directions here, I would like to ask: Would you prefer a **happy** ending, or a **tragic** one? Kindly review and submit your vote. __Secondly, would anyone prefer to see 'Next Chapter Previews' in the Author's Note? That way, the reader has a better idea of what's going to happen, as well as a sense of anticipation, while I have a way to make people actually READ the author's note._

_Lastly, I would like to note that, while this story recieved over 3000 hits, only **ONE **person reviewed. For the author, that's pretty discouraging. Please, if you liked it, _**SUBMIT A REVIEW**_ and tell me that you did. Alot of work goes into writing literate chapters, and it only takes a minute or two to write a quick review._

_-Karia Ithilai_


	4. Reawakened Nightmares

_**Special thanks to Prodigy Keyblade Wielder for being my Beta-reader!**_

_**Disclaimer: **__Please refer to the previous chapter, which will refer you to the chapter before that, which will eventually refer you to Chapter I_

_**Spoiler Warning:**__ This is an AU-ish, Hitsugaya-centric work based off the 'what if Hinamori Momo died rather than recovered after being attacked by Aizen Sousuke during the Soul Society arc'. Spoilers for everything up until the latest manga chapter, since I will try my best to incorporate all canon ideas that do not directly contradict the first premise into the story. I derived storyline canon from the manga –I also incorporated additional information from the anime as long as it did not contradict the manga or the AU premise accordingly._

_**Author's Note: **__This is the rewritten version of Chapter III, and the entire storyline has undergone a massive change in plot and structure. Hence, if you read the previous chapter III before __**27 June 2007**__, then I would highly suggest you read the current Chapter III, and all chapters before it._

_**Pairing(s): **__Hitsugaya Centric; HitsuHina, perhaps one-sided HitsuMatsu_

Unending Storm

Chapter III: Reawakened Nightmares

'_He's sealed and incapacitated – sealed is good; incapacitated is better. But I still think that butchered and dead are best.'_

_-Zaraki Kenpachi, 11th Division Captain_

* * *

He would never admit it aloud, but he felt tired. Just a little – nothing a warm cup of tea and a good night's sleep wouldn't solve. 

But looking at the ominous piles of unfinished paperwork piling over his desk, and the crammed planner full of chaotic deadlines and meetings, Hitsugaya doubted he would be getting any sleep anytime soon, no matter how badly he needed it. So coffee instead of tea would be a better idea, even if coffee did nothing to lessen the headache pounding through his temples.

He really hated it when his people died in the field. He didn't know which was worse – losing valuable subordinates, or having to inform the families or friends in person what had happened. Of course, he could always just issue notices regarding the setting of the funerals, but the thought of it grated against his conscience. So he had spent the afternoon, a solid three hours, simply going across Seireitei and informing the deceased's closest family and friends about what had happened in a cold, distant tone, letting them grieve or rant at him however they wished, while Matsumoto was overseeing the division for him.

In hindsight, maybe sending Matsumoto to spread the news while he managed the Division would have been a better choice. He was sure that she was better at consoling others, since the icy quality of his demeanor failed to be anything close to comforting. But then again, what kind of Captain would force any of their subordinates through that kind of emotional stress? Matsumoto had dealt with the few loyal shinigami still on duty in his stead – and she had done it admirably - but that alone was also more than enough to leave a bitter taste behind.

So just this once, he let her go without a word when she skipped out on the paperwork, and probably left to go drinking with her usual drinking partners (Shuuhei, Abarai, Kira, and perhaps some others) without telling him. And for once, Hitsugaya didn't mind the drone-like, mind-numbing quality of doing paperwork; the quantity of it annoyed him, but the quality of it never bothered him at times like this. It was an odd sort of satisfaction to finish forms quickly, efficiently, and without error. The stack of finished forms grew steadily taller, and the pile of unfinished ones continued to diminish.

Splotch.

Hitsugaya forcibly restrained himself from cursing and felt the painful throb in his temples increase in urgency. He blotted out the splatter of ink viciously and, with a few crude strokes, fixed the careless mistake; his patience was wearing thin, and if he was distracted enough to write such a simple kanji incorrectly, then he was very distracted indeed.

Hitsugaya dipped the brush again – carefully this time – and plied it once more to the thin piece of paper. Stroke after stroke flowed cleanly and smoothly from his brush under his conscious concentration, and the neat lines of written script began filling the paper. Back in rhythm, stroke after mindless stroke.

But barely a few pages later, a shrill whistle jostled him from his absorption. Hitsugaya set down the brush with a sigh and glanced out the window. He had spent many days and nights in Rukongai lying on his back and watching the clouds shift – they had given him a familiarity with the skies that never failed. A brief glance outside would tell him almost exactly what time of day it was, as well as the possible weather conditions for the coming days.

And this time, as Hitsugaya watched the dim red hues of an early, winter sun fall, the Tenth Division Captain knew at once that the clouds promised either cold rain or sleet, and the time was barely past five. Which meant two things: squad dismissal for the day, and more importantly, the emergency Captains' meeting Yamamoto had organized for 'undisclosed reasons'.

He paused only long enough to put away his brushes properly and draw the curtains before leaving the administrative office. The few shinigami gracing the hallways bowed to their superior officer respectfully, but failed to meet his eyes – the memories of this morning were still too fresh for anyone to meet anyone else's eyes. But Hitsugaya only dismissed them with a curt nod before continuing on his way. Perhaps it was a blessing that most of the division was off-duty today – he could stave off telling the news to them until tomorrow, which gave him more time to construct a coherent announcement.

Past the hallway, down the left corridor, and then two more doors to the right. Hitsugaya slid open the sliding door and stepped into the office of the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth seat officers, albeit, two of them were absent on this particular day. His third seat, Akira Sanji, looked up at the interruption, and immediately snapped to attention when he realized who stood at the door.

"Hitsugaya-taichou." Akira immediately stood from his seat and bowed stiffly, as respectful and proper as ever.

"Akira. Assemble the remaining squads and dismiss them for the day – I have a meeting to attend. And if Matsumoto returns, please direct her to the administrative office in my absence. Seated officer meeting tomorrow morning at seven."

Akira bowed again dutifully, and Hitsugaya nodded before leaving the room without ceremony, sliding the door shut behind him. He could trust Akira to act perfectly according to regulation – the man was strict to a fault, perhaps a tad lacking in originality. He was predictable though, and honest; for Hitsugaya, that made the man easier to read, and thus, easier to deal with. In sharp contrast to his frivolous vice-captain, whose current whereabouts were still dubious, Hitsugaya reminded himself.

But that wasn't important now. If he was going to make it to the Captain's meeting on time, he would have to hurry.

Usually, it took him five minutes, tops, to shunpo from Tenth Division to First Division. But today was an exception – considering how much flash-stepping he had just done – a trip to the edge of Rukongai and back – and Hitsugaya decided it would be best to avoid high-speed movement in general, unless absolutely necessary. So for the first time in ages, the Tenth Division Captain was walking on foot through the winding, deserted streets running past the Gotei 13 headquarters, rather than leaping from rooftop to rooftop high above the street.

He regretted the decision very quickly. The memories of this morning were still sharp, and they only invited even older, less pleasant recollections out from the depths of his mind. The biting wind was only sharpening his clarity of mind, and the early winter sunset painted every surface blood red and drew long, grotesque shadows along the ground. It was unnaturally silent outside, without the usual hustle bustle of Seireitei's residents, since most had been forced indoors to seek shelter from the bitter cold. The streets were almost deserted, and with nothing to distract him, Hitsugaya found himself reminiscing.

At times like this, a flawless memory was not something he was thankful for, because everywhere he walked, his sharp eyes were able to pick out details in the hazy light, and then his mind would be able to identify it immediately. A bench here, a corner there. And haunting, ethereal echoes of shouts, voices, faces, and laughter of people who had once visited those places, but were now long dead, forgotten by the world, save for scattered memorials and gravestones dedicated to them. Yet even a memorial couldn't remember their faces, nor could a gravestone remember its owner's voice.

But a Captain could.

Hitsugaya Toushirou did not forget.

But that did not mean that he enjoyed remembering in any way. Especially not when his eyes fell on the gnarled, lonely peach tree standing silently outside the Fifth Division compound, its branches stripped bare by winter's frost. And the bench beneath it was rusting with age.

He should have just used flash-step. Because he had worked too hard to move on, to leave the past behind; and the moment his gaze fixed onto that tree, a physical reminder of his past failures, the memories slammed into him at full speed. None of them things he wanted to remember.

Sharp, vivid recollections of a time when the ice had melted and the fire sparked. Of girlish laughter, childish innocence, and confident naivety. Indistinct calls of '_Shirou-chan_' and the sweetness of sticky watermelon juice everywhere, of shared nights spent on chilly rooftops watching fireworks and stars. But then…then, shattered innocence, choked sobs, and the shattering fragments of bloodstained ice. An unending storm of dying hopes, when the fire had ebbed away. Ice.

"Damn it." Hitsugaya curled his hands into fists again, and felt Hyourinmaru's familiar chill spread through his veins again. He had gotten over this. It had been over a century, more than long enough for the wounds to heal.

There really was no reason why she still lingered in his mind, and that not a single day could pass without remembering her in some way. It was stupid and illogical, not something that anyone, much less a Captain, should be holding on to.

The faster he got to First Division, the sooner he could get this over with, the sooner this wretched day could end.

Hitsugaya gritted his teeth and disappeared in a decisive burst of shunpo, leaving the peach tree behind in a whirl of speed. But he could not leave the memories behind, and the images still flickered restlessly in his mind, aggravating his building headache.

He should have known nothing good would happen today.

* * *

The meeting started perfectly normal, no different from any other Captain's meeting, emergency or not. Kurotsuchi and Zaraki had begun exchanging death glares and caustic comments the moment both were present, Kuchiki Byakuya had remained distant and aloof from everyone else, and Kurosaki Ichigo was as unimpressed as ever, not even bothering to hide his evident boredom and annoyance. Perhaps the only thing out of the ordinary was Ukitake's attendance – he did not stand in his customary position, but next to Unohana, since the man could barely talk through his fits of coughing. 

But Captain's intuition was still Captain's intuition, and not a single individual in the room was unaware of the heaviness in the atmosphere, a foreboding premonition that usually wasn't there.

Hitsugaya's throbbing headache had only worsened.

Only after two and a half arduous hours, after all the tedious reports were finally over, did Yamamoto slowly rise from his chair and announce that the meeting was not yet over. And in the same breath, the old man confirmed what their intuition had been telling them all along.

"A more pressing matter remains. From this point, no word of this is to leave this room."

Now _this_ was new. Hitsugaya arched an eyebrow. Yamamoto rarely ordered them to secrecy; he usually left them the freedom to judge which pieces of information they would pass on to their Vice-Captains, and which were to remain confidential. Anything that he actively prompted them to swear secrecy towards was very confidential indeed.

Something was amiss. More than amiss. Something was very, very wrong. But Yamamoto seemed oblivious to the stiffening discomfort permeating the room, and his voice ploughed on.

"All of you before me now should remember that the Great War began exactly one hundred years prior to today. It spanned four years, ending with the sealing of traitor Aizen Sousuke, through a forbidden seal known only to those in this room, and the select few others that had a hand in it, yes?"

Strained murmurs of affirmation and several nods greeted his question. That trip down the memory lane was not one that anyone particularly wanted to take. But Yamamoto still showed no sign of acknowledgment to their uneasiness. He only paused, letting his silence accumulate weight, and then let his words fall like thunder.

"The seal is weakening."

Hitsugaya's heart missed a beat, and he barely fended off the torrent of unpleasant memories by forcing himself to ignore it, even if the ice masking his expression did not crack. But the room suddenly crackled with the overbearing combination of Captain-leveled spiritual pressure – his own probably included - and a chaotic mess of accusations, protests, disbelief, and anger broke out, voices rising to hissing accusations shouts of outrage.

Yamamoto silenced their outburst by pounding his wooden cane onto the floorboards, sending a low boom reverberating through their ears and limbs. The noise immediately ceased, leaving a whispering silence in its wake, still carrying the echoes of their protests. Yamamoto scrutinized every Captain present, meeting their eyes, challenging them with the banked fires that simmered in his.

But then the eyes closed suddenly, and the fires faded, smoldering to ashes. The fiery strength in Yamamoto's voice suddenly failed, and he continued with a tone of weariness that Hitsugaya had never heard from the old man before. "The seal," he continued, "draws upon the power of each individual who helped cast it. No matter how strong the individual, the seal will continue depleting the same amount of power, as long as that individual is still alive. But therein lays our problem.

"Aizen Sousuke was sealed to avoid confronting him, because his special zanpakuto ability was too dangerous to challenge. The seal that Urahara Kisuke invented for our use was the only one of its caliber, with the strength enough to hold Sousuke without fear of his escape. The only one that Sousuke was not aware of, could not have researched, could not have predicted. That is why we used it. As a last resort."

Yamamoto paused.

"The spell, however, did not defeat Aizen Sousuke. There is a difference between defeating him, and sealing him. Right now, if we were to release the spell, he would be unscathed and unchanged. But while we hold the spell in place, it wears away at our power, constantly draining spiritual pressure to hold Aizen back.

"A total of fifteen people cast the spell. Thus, each person would bear the weight of one-fifteenth of the spell's weight. It is not, perhaps, as bad as if fewer people cast it, but the seal will do the same thing, only slower. It is killing us. Draining us. Sapping away at our strength, until we can no longer uphold it.

"Perhaps you do not feel it now. After all, though one-fifteenth would easily kill a normal Death God, a Captain's spirit should be able to withstand it. But even we have our limits. Our strength is not infinite. We are not invincible. Eventually, we will tire, and one by one, we will fall. Then those that remain must carry greater and greater burdens, one-fourteenth, thirteenth, twelfth…that will only tire us faster. Eventually…all will fall. The seal cannot last forever. And if it breaks, then Aizen Sousuke will go free, and there will be none left to stand against him."

The silence that followed was deafening. For a long time, everyone struggled to put their thoughts into words, struggled to face the impossible dilemma that seemed to come before them.

Finally, it was Abarai Renji who spoke. "Can't we, have others help? Like, when we get tired, have someone new take our place? You know, something like fresher blood?"

Yamamoto shook his head slowly. "The seal cannot draw power from anyone save its original casters."

Kurosaki's voice rang out, one of the only ones in the room that carried no strain of doubt. His tone was set, once more alight with the determination that served him so well. "How long do we have? It's already been a century, and I don't feel any different yet."

A soft, strained voice answered, through a suppressed cough. All heads turned to look at Ukitake Jyushirou.

"Perhaps, Kurosaki-kun, you have not felt it. You are young, and stronger than most could ever dream of being. But I have. The sickness strikes more often now, and each time, it takes me longer to recover. My strength is beginning to wane." He voice was low, almost a whisper, though the knowing smile did not leave his face. And at his words, even Shunsui did not know what to say. Ukitake continued, his smile still held in place by an iron will. "And like Yamamoto-sensei said, if one falls, then the burden on the rest will increase. I'm afraid…that might happen sooner than we thought."

Kyouraku's expression disappeared under the shadow of his straw hat. Unohana's eyes softened, and Hitsugaya found that, for all his genius, he could not think of what to say. Ukitake stood there smiling, speaking casually of dying, and Yamamoto watched them, his old, wizened eyes suddenly full of weariness.

Aizen was breaking free. They were tiring. He had lost a squad this morning to an unknown threat. No one had any answers to any of their problems or questions. _She_ was constantly invading his thoughts. And the feeling of dread in the back of his mind had just multiplied by tenfold.

Hitsugaya's thoughts ran in endless circles with dizzying speed, and the tensai gritted his teeth in frustration. All problems had a solution. Every lock had a key. All he needed to do was find it. All he needed –

Hyourinmaru's blade suddenly quivered with power against his back, and the familiar rush of cold flooded his veins. With the chill came that sense of calm, control, and clarity. His problems shattered like a thin sheet of ice, revealing the answer in his mind. So obvious that he couldn't believe he missed it in his distraction.

One step at a time. No more running in fear of an unnamed threat, no more dawdling as the situation spun out of control. No more locked away memories and muffled grief. No more hesitation.

He had made this decision years ago. A century ago.

He had vowed to fight, to resist, to struggle until his dying breath. He would not sit back and watch as Aizen destroyed everything he felt dear. Nor would he wait until some complex and ineffective seal drained him to the point of death. That would be stupid, and illogical. There was only one option left, and it was one that had taken him a hundred years to see. It was the option they had feared the last time around, and had avoided then, which caused all of their problems now.

The option to stand and fight. To face Aizen and win. There _was_ no other option.

But would everyone else agree? Would they be able to see as clearly?

"Then we'll just have to defeat him."

Hitsugaya looked up, and saw it was Kurosaki Ichigo speaking, the glint of battle alight once more in his eyes. The 5th and 10th Division Captains locked gazes, and in the brief eye contact, both realized the other had reached the same conclusion. "I say we let the bastard out, then beat his sorry ass into the ground," Ichigo affirmed.

"Are you _insane_?" Kurotsuchi hissed. "You do not understand the complexity of that seal. It's not as simple as just 'letting him out'. There are other ways, I could research –"

"We don't have time for your so-called research!" Abarai Renji shouted.

"Now, now, let's not rush headlong into unnecessary risks. Think it over-"

"Afraid? Ha! Bring on the carnage; it's been too long since an enemy put up a decent fight!"

"Zaraki! Control yourself! Not everyone is as invulnerable as you are. The citizens would have to be evacuated–"

"Who's asking you, old-"

"This is foolishness–!"

"Perhaps, if we–"

The hubbub broke out immediately as various viewpoints hurtled through the air via the voices of the more emotionally volatile people present. Hitsugaya barely refrained from rubbing his throbbing temples in frustration – all Captains' meetings came to this: childish bantering. Even on an urgent matter like this, they would waste time trying to come to a conclusion. Gods, it was no wonder Aizen had had such ease executing his plan last time.

"_Silence!_" Again, Yamamoto's wooden staff rammed against the wooden floorboards, jarring the room into silence. "Your concerns and suggestions are well-founded and hold merit. I will present this issue to the Center 46, and they will decide. Captains, look to your respective Divisions. Until next week, you are dismissed."

The old man turned, motioned to his Vice Captain, and exited, signaling the end of the meeting.

Hitsugaya eased his hands out of the frustrated fists they had formed. This wasn't what they needed right now – the Center 46 was still new and inexperienced with this type of issue; they would take weeks, maybe even months to reach any sort of conclusion. They didn't _have_ weeks or months to waste dawdling.

He concentrated on Hyourinmaru's chill for a minute, then decided that, protocol or no, it was time to take action on his own. One step at a time. First things first.

There was still unfinished business in District 76.

But even before that, there were inner demons that he had to face first. No more running.

To defeat Aizen once and for all, he needed all the concentration he could muster. Which meant he couldn't afford to be distracted by thoughts of Hinamori every other waking minute. Which meant he had to resolve his own feelings first.

And it was time to pay Hinamori a visit, no matter how much he dreaded the meeting.

* * *

The mountain was unchanged since he had seen it over a century ago. In the shadow of the towering peaks of the Hakke Ridge, even the dragon felt humbled. The wintry Captain found himself feeling closer to his younger self – the one that had come here a hundred years ago, cradling the body of the girl he loved and blasting a cavern into the side of the great mountain with sheer rage. Here, hidden from the eyes of any watching souls or shinigami, well away from any village or town, the blue-green-eyed shinigami let all the trappings of society fall away, and let the dragon come to the fore. 

The painful memories were bubbling to the surface again, seething through the cracks in the ice like acid. But he had to do this. He had to face this and pull himself together. This was the only way to mend the fault in the ice.

His fingers were raw from climbing the sheer rock face, but they clung fast to the mountainside as the whipping winds tried to tear him off. Most people would be considered suicidal to try scaling this particular mountain clad in nothing but a simple, black yukata (he had changed out of his Captain's uniform before leaving Seireitei), with no equipment but a sword slung over their back. But most people were not Hitsugaya Toushirou. The young man set his teeth against the cold and climbed on, pulling strength from the almost inexhaustible reiatsu reserves in his mind.

At last, his hand reached a flat ledge, and Hitsugaya swung up onto the ledge with trained reflexes.

The boulder he had sealed the entrance with was weatherworn and frozen in place, untouched by any hands since he had set it there. Hyourinmaru's freezing presence did not let him hesitate, though the doubts were already forming in his mind. He walked up to the sizable rock, placed his fingertips against it, and willed the reiatsu to flow from his hand into the solid stone. A heartbeat later, the boulder exploded into gravel with a thunderous explosion; a testament to the sheer power that had been bent against it. Stone fell to ice.

The exposed tunnel was short – he had blasted straight to the heart of the mountain – but it was as cold, if not colder than the winds outside. The floors and walls were slick with ice, and Hitsugaya's breath manifested in ragged wisps of frost.

At the tunnel's end, a crude room carved into the solid rock of the mountain, illuminated by the eerie, ice blue glow of the reiatsu that kept the room frozen, even in the hottest summers. And at the center of the room, a towering monument of ice that filled the bulk of the room; trapped within it – _her_.

The ice wall in his mind shattered, and the acidic memories washed over him, drowning out all other conscious thought. Hitsugaya couldn't remember why he had come here, or what he was supposed to do – the mixed emotions threatening to burst out of his chest clouded his vision and tilted the world askew. Solutions that seemed so simple and clear in Hyourinmaru's cold light suddenly became complex and elusive.

And still, all he could concentrate on was _her_.

"Hinamori, I'm back." Hitsugaya whispered softly as he pressed his battle-roughened hands against the ice gently, unaware of the cold that was turning them blue. He words came out as a wispy apparition of chilled fog.

She did not move. She couldn't move – not when she was frozen in a block of ice. _His ice._

Hitsugaya closed his eyes. A hundred years. She had been trapped here from a hundred years, not a hair different from how she had been that very day. A century trapped in this cold, lifeless room, alone and all but abandoned. But he could not have let her go, could not have let even her corpse – the last shred of proof that she had once lived, laughed, and loved – he could not have let it decay, when he could protect her from the destroying talons of time.

The boy had only been able to give it all he had, and it hadn't even been enough to save her. As he had been selfish then, so he still was now. He couldn't let her go, even as he tried to erase the memories of her from his mind.

Hitsugaya Toushirou did not forget. His heart wouldn't let him.

The young Captain lifted his gaze to look at her again.

Through the frosted surface of the ice, she looked pale, unearthly…almost angelic as her hair and simple white hospital gown fluttered in frozen suspension. Her eyes were closed, however, hiding the warm brown eyes that he longed so much to see again. So close, Hitsugaya thought as he pressed his palm against the ice and brushed the layer of frost away to give him a clearer view of her face. _So close_, _but worlds apart_.

He wanted to hear her say 'Shirou-chan' just once more, no matter how much he used to hate the nickname.

But he would never hear it again. 'Shirou-chan' had died with her – he was now Hitsugaya Toushirou, a Captain of the Gotei 13, the reincarnation of a heavenly guardian, and a cold, cold prodigy of ice. She was gone. They were separated by time, separated by life and death. Separated by…fate?

Without warning, his self-control snapped.

"_Damn you._" A fist pounded furiously against the ice, the force of its impact reverberating in every bone of his body and sending splinters of ice flying downward to crash musically on the ground below. The drops blood welled from his abused hand immediately, freezing as they fell, and crystallizing into ruby red gems before they shattered into a thousand million particles against the frozen floor.

Who was he cursing? Her? No, not her. He had tried to hate her, tried to scorn her, tried to feel anger or disdain or disregard…but his heart wouldn't let him. Even when she was long dead, his heart clung to his memories of her with sacred devotion, rendering him unable to think any ill of her. Then, who was his fury directed towards? Fate? There was no such thing as Fate.

Himself.

For being weak, for being foolish, for being incapable. Himself, for everything he could have done, but never did. Himself, for being so dependant on her.

The dragon in him rebelled against the idea that he needed her warmth to keep the ice at bay, to keep hold of who he was, to keep the ground in sight. Without her, the dragon would soar too high and go too far, and forget to return home. Without her, he would freeze. Something about her shook him to the core, ingrained into the very fabric of who he was. She was his last lifeline to days when life had been simpler and sunnier, before anger, hate, betrayal, and society swallowed up their lives. In a way, she defined him. She was the key to the side of him that was softer, kinder, and warmer. Something more than just the dragon and the ice.

The side of him that was still vulnerable, still alive, and still human.

"Baka…Bed wetter Momo." His voice broke. Hitsugaya couldn't bring himself to stare at her cold, pale face through the layers of ice.

Hyourinmaru's ruby red eyes suddenly obscured his view, and the phantom image of the dragon materialized in the frozen mists, wrapping its ponderous, serpentine coils around the room. It gazed down levelly at him, no emotion displayed in its crimson eyes.

**Toushirou. **The growl wasn't harsh, but it was cold. Hitsugaya immediately knew what the dragon meant to say – what the dragon felt.

"Sorry, Hyourinmaru. My emotions are affecting you too." He gathered up his resolve and slid the mask of ice back over his heart. "I remember our promise."

No force on earth could keep a dragon from the sky.

"Sayonara, Hinamori."

Hinamori didn't respond. He softened his eyes. _Not 'sayonara.' Not 'Hinamori'._ He thought. "Jya ne, Momo." See you later, since goodbyes were forever. And he fully intended to come back.

He turned and left, not once looking back, not even to reseal the entrance of the cave. The pressure building in his chest was gone, and Hitsugaya fixed his gaze forward, intent on reaching District 76 before midnight. He did not notice that the brisk cold had abated, as if the heart of the cavern had softened and relaxed its harsh grip.

His headache was gone.

* * *

The gentle snows rapidly grew into a furious blizzard as he neared the deeper districts of Rukongai. Hitsugaya saw no one, shinigami, soul, or otherwise. The infinite fields of shadowed white blurred by in shunpo, swirling and melting into the obscurity of night. The snowstorm blotted out the skies; his intuition and innate sense of direction were his only guides. 

They guided him true. Just as he was beginning to tire from the forced flash steps, Hitsugaya caught the telltale glow of a village and pulled out of shunpo in a spray of snow.

Strange. Hitsugaya's eyes narrowed as he pulled up a mental map from his impeccable memory. He had known there would be a town here, but he hadn't expected it to be this large, or this _quiet_. The back of his neck tingled noticeably, and his instincts were screaming at the _wrongness_ of the town's aura. Something was off here – unnatural, far too quiet – and it didn't look like it was entirely because of the cold.

He fingered Hyourinmaru's hilt contemplatively. Flawless emerald eyes picked out tiny details as the Tenth Division Captain strode silently through the town's deserted streets – bolted doors, blocked windows, and an unnerving lack of hearth-fires. The town wasn't deserted, since he could sense the presence of the souls hiding in each one of the dark abodes, but its residents seemed subdued, like cornered animals or fearful mice. As he neared the center of the town, however, more signs of life appeared. As he passed by the bars and brothels dotting the town, Hitsugaya reminded himself that, in remote areas like the District 76, the moral uprightness of the citizens was much less innocent than those back in Jyunrinan.

Wait.

Hitsugaya strained his senses, and barely – just barely – could he detect a trace of reiatsu. It fluctuated rapidly, giving off signals of distress and anger. A little too weak to be shinigami, but Hitsugaya could have sworn that he knew that reiatsu signature. Logically impossible – the last time he had been this far out in Rukongai had been before he became Captain – he didn't know anyone around here.

But the feeling was insistent, and Hitsugaya found himself weaving through the alleyways and occasionally flitting from rooftop to rooftop, trying to track down the reiatsu signature. A thought jolted into his mind.

Maybe a member of the squad sent out this morning had been severely wounded, but had survived and sought refuge here. Not likely – he had done a tally of the bodies, and all of the members were supposedly accounted for – but it was possible that he had made a mistake. Barely, but still possible.

He quickened his pace.

The spiritual pressure was stronger now, and definitely familiar. He _knew_ this signature, but from when? Who? Hitsugaya racked his brain for answers; he should be able to recognize every one of his subordinates by their reiatsu, even if he never matched their faces with their names. No one came to mind.

Just around the corner; one more alleyway. He could see the glow of a fire flickering off the ramshackle walls and could hear the scuffling sounds of fighting.

Hitsugaya rounded the edge and caught sight of a ragtag gang armed with swords grouped around a victim that was partially obscured from his view in the dim lighting. The fiery glow came from a torch someone was holding. The assailants were kicking and stomping, but had fortunately kept their zanpakuto sheathed.

Double take. Zanpakuto. Hitsugaya ducked behind a pile of crates to get a closer look, and, when he had confirmed his suspicions, he felt the anger rise in his chest again. He corrected his original assumption – the swords _used_ to be zanpakuto, but were now nothing more than common asauchi. He could still pick up the lingering scent of the zanpakuto spirits, but they had left the swords after their owners' deaths.

The thugs had either killed shinigami, or had stolen the swords from corpses or graveyards.

Hitsugaya tightened his jaw in suppressed rage as he forced himself to keep his reiatsu under tight wraps. If he even let his spiritual pressure as much as flicker, every reiatsu-less soul in the vicinity might be affected, and that was something he wasn't about to risk without a good reason. Which meant he couldn't use Hyourinmaru. Or shunpo. Or kidou.

Hitsugaya ran a quick mental calculation. Hakuda had always been his least adept shinigami principle. He was outnumbered about eight-to-one by armed thugs in a tight, secluded alleyway, thousands of flash steps away from Seireitei. The gang was harassing another victim, who could potentially be a wounded member of the decimated squad this morning. He would have to cover for that. And he was still slightly tired from long-distance flash-stepping.

Shouldn't be a problem.

In the blink of an eye, Hitsugaya kicked the feet from under one of the thugs and knocked him out with a swift blow to the neck. Two more thugs went down completely winded by a punch and a kick respectively before the rest figured out what was going on. One of the thugs he took down must have been the one holding the torch, because Hitsugaya heard a hiss of the flame being doused in snow, and the alleyway plunged into darkness. In the ensuing chaos, Hitsugaya ducked and wove through the blind tangle of arms and legs and swords, placing precise blows with the fluidity achieved through intense training and combat experience. A minute later, all eight ex-assailants were down, either winded or knocked out or both.

But Hitsugaya didn't linger. He had taken care not to strike vital points or cause permanent damage; only to delay. The Tenth Division Captain had no intention of causing bodily harm to random souls in Rukongai without clearance or threat to personal safety. Something about harming people that were essentially harmless to him, no matter how much they disgusted him, felt too much like bullying.

Hitsugaya turned to the victim who was being attacked. In the darkness, he couldn't make out any details – only that the person was female, and obviously from Rukongai. She was still slightly dazed, unsure of what had just happened. Not one of his subordinates, but even so, Hitsugaya wasn't about to leave a helpless girl in a deserted alleyway with a bunch of unconscious thugs.

"We need to get out of here." Hitsugaya gruffly vocalized as he approached the girl. "Can you walk?"

No answer. She had apparently lost consciousness. Hitsugaya quickly checked her vital signs and took a quick overview of her condition – not good. Nothing fatal, apparently, but by the looks of it, she at had broken at least two ribs and her ankle, as well as received a minor concussion from being kicked in the head. She needed medical attention, and she needed it quickly before the cold set into any of her injuries before they healed properly. Hitsugaya mentally cursed his luck – he _really_ didn't need another complication right now – but still (gently) scooped the girl off the ground and carried her as cautiously as he could, bridal style. _'Where in this godforsaken town can I find a medic?'_

He leapt up onto a rooftop to move around more easily, but even though he cushioned his landing the best he could, he still couldn't help but jar the girl slightly. She moaned softly in her unconsciousness. Hitsugaya almost cringed when he heard the sound, and his heart shuddered inexplicably.

Why the hell did he feel so protective all of a sudden?

He shifted to shield her from the wind and snow with his body as he gingerly leapt from rooftop to rooftop, winding towards the center of the small town. There were more and more lit houses as he neared the town center, even if they were still very few and far apart. Deciding it would be easier to search from the ground, the Tenth Division Captain landed as softly as he could while carrying another person, his feet crunching into the freshly fallen snow.

The wind chose that particular moment to gust by, ripping off the ramshackle shutters of the house (with lit windows) on Hitsugaya's right. The sickly yellow light spilled out of the broken window and onto the two souls standing outside the house. Hitsugaya looked away and closed his eyes for a moment, unused to the sudden change of brightness, but inadvertently caught a glance of the girl's face.

Dark brown hair. Heart-shaped face. Long lashes and small, pink lips. Every detail emblazoned into his memory.

It wasn't possible. She was dead, had been dead for a hundred years. She was still frozen in a solid block of ice in Hakke Ridge. There was _no way_ she could be here, right now, right here. No fucking way.

But the light must have woken her up, because when she groaned, her eyes fluttered open, and Hitsugaya found himself staring into the warm, hazel-brown eyes that had haunted his thoughts and dreams for the past century. There was no mistaking those eyes.

But it was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Why today, of all days, the anniversary of the war? What were the chances?

No such thing as Fate. No such thing as Destiny.

Unless something astronomically impossible convinced him otherwise.

* * *

_Rewritten August 7, 2007_

_I apologize for the long wait, and will post Chapter IV as soon as possible. This chapter deals mainly with __**transition**__ yet again, and I feel that it doesn't flow very well. However, I needed to get several large plot elements out into the open, as well as introduce the Reincarnated Hinamori vs. Dead Hinamori idea. __**Questions? **__Ask me in a review or a PM if there is something you don't understand. Once again, I'm asking for public opinion whether this should be a __**happy**__ or a __**tragic**__ ending. Based on majority vote (and, of course, my preference, which I shall not disclose), I will adjust certain plot elements accordingly._

_Thank you for reading, and please review!_

_-Karia Ithilai_


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